Black and White
by The Firefaery
Summary: After the War. That's all Heero can think about, when he'll tell Duo how he feels. But when Shinigami comes knocking, will the Perfect Soldier be able to stay so perfect?
1. Part One of Three

Black and White  
  
Part One  
  
By: The Firefaery  
  
R: Gore  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing. Due to length, this has been split into a trilogy. ^_~ *Some minor corrections that were needed*  
  
After the war. That's the goal Heero has in mind, the time of peace they are assured will come at the end of all the madness. It's the time he'll tell Duo how he feels. For now he must be the Perfect Soldier, no emotions allowed to distract him. But when Deathscythe's pilot is hovering on the brink of meeting his other half, Shinigami, can the Perfect Soldier admit to himself and the fallen pilot that he's not perfect anymore?  
  
****  
  
I've started dreaming in black and white. If I think about that fact too much, I know it means I'm going crazy. Or have already gone. But I don't think about the color of my dreams, or other unimportant things, very often. Things like the number of people I've killed, the red, red blood that stains my hands for the rest of my life, or the constant call of my other persona, Shinigami. It's getting harder and harder to return to the normal façade of Duo Maxwell each time I get back from a battle. The God of Death is taking over my mind, bleeding into my dreams and even my everyday thoughts. It's a little unsettling to realize that I can't really turn it off anymore. I'm always in "Battle Mode" these days, and I can't say that I like it.  
  
Flicking the end of my infamous braid in thought, I almost don't hear the approaching footsteps behind me. Dropping the hair, I pull my gun out of my waistband, not even realizing I'd brought it with me, and turn, ready to fire. Instead of an Oz lackey or a White Fang operative, I find Quatre Winner's blue eyes blinking at me in astonishment. Suddenly, I recall where I am at the moment.  
  
As miracles would have it, the five Gundam pilots are for once all in the same place, holed up in a Winner Estate. Of all the places we could have picked, we're stuck here, the Piney Woods of East Texas, USA, and waiting for orders to come down so we can move out. I have no idea why the Winner family has an estate out in the last backwoods of the oil state, and, God help us, it's summer. Summer in this state means barbecue, sauna, heart of the sun heat, and let me remind everyone that my favorite color to wear is black. I am so miserable in this heat that I usually stay up in my wonderful, air-conditioned room for most of the day. I'm outside now to get a breather, think a little. Having Quatre walk up on me had startled me.  
  
"Whoops, sorry, Q-man," I quip, grinning and slipping my gun back into my belt carelessly, no sign of my recent thoughts betraying me. The tension leaves his shoulders after a moment and he gives me that little-boy smile of his.  
  
"That's all right, Duo, I didn't mean to startle you. I just came out to tell you that I've got lemonade in the house and sundaes in the works if you want something to cool off," he admits, his eyes twinkling slightly, knowing I won't and can't resist the offer of food ~and~ a way to cool off. The black tank top I'm wearing is sticking to my chest with sweat and the hair around my face and neck is damp, too. A shower sounds really good, but definitely drinks and ice cream first.  
  
"Man, you read my mind! I've never been this hot in my life!" I cry in half- mocking dismay, not actually willing to show how disgruntled and grouchy the stupid heat makes me. I am a Gundam pilot, after all.  
  
Smiling more broadly now, Quatre speaks again. "It's not really that bad, you know. L-4 is usually this hot or hotter, and so is my homeland. You just have to get used to it, and quit wearing black," he jibes slightly, reminding me callously that Quatre was actually at home in this weather, being Arabic and from a desert culture. Throwing the smug Sandrock pilot a glare, I turn to head into the house and the beautiful, wonderful, makes-ya- wanna-cry-with-relief invention that is A/C.  
  
"Says you, oh mighty Quatre," I grumble back, hearing him chuckle softly as I reach the large covered front porch, open the screen door and walk inside. The cool air hitting me in the face nearly makes my knees go weak, and I feel my mood lighten somewhat. The door slams behind me as I jog to the kitchen, coming upon the strange and amusing scene of Wu Fei and Trowa put to work constructing sundaes for the five of us. All the Winner servants had vacated this place in the spring, the estate staying empty during the torturous summers of Texas heat. Except, of course, we were here during said torturous summer.  
  
"Hey you guys, Quatre put you to work?" I ask, grinning. The tall, brown- haired pilot nods as I briefly picture the uptight Wu Fei and silent Trowa in the frilly aprons and fuzzy slippers of my picture of a mom or housewife, and snicker at the ridiculousness of it. Wu Fei glares at me, probably guessing some of what I'm thinking. I just give him a shit-eating grin and grab one of the completed sundaes and a talk, slick glass of lemonade. "Thanks, Wu-man!" I call evilly, knowing that particular nickname will always get a rise out of him.  
  
"The name is Wu Fei! Get it right, Maxwell, you baka!" he hollers from the kitchen, the image of him in a apron coming back to me. I just can't resist, my foot on the stairs and therefore almost to safety.  
  
"You'd make a great wife, Wuffie!" I yell loudly, and I can almost hear the aneurysm he's having. I hightail it to the security and coolness of my room on the second floor, closing and locking the door after setting down my drink and snack, and snickering at my escape. I know he'll get me back eventually, though, but that's in the future, something I don't think about much these days. I'm pretty sure I don't have much of one coming to me, if I survive the war alive and at least partially intact, mentally and physically. Piloting Deathscythe isn't really a job meant to last. We all knew, to some extent, that some or all of us wouldn't be around whenever this war ended.  
  
"Hell, it all sucks anyway," I mutter, stripping off my sweat-soaked top and, after placing the ever-present gun on the table next to my sundae, take off my belt and jeans too. Sitting in only my gray cotton boxers, I hold my braid up so the air from the A/C vent can hit my back, drying the sweat and giving me a chill for a moment.  
  
The ice cream in front of me is melting, and mind only half aware, I start eating, feeling the cool, thick feeling of it sliding down my throat. Taking a sip of lemonade, I realize that maybe ice cream and lemons don't go together. Shrugging, I continue eating, planning on finishing the drink after I'm done.  
  
You know, it really bites that I'm fifteen, an orphan, broke as hell, and I know I'm going to die pretty damn soon. It probably won't be on our next mission, and maybe not the one after that, but eventually, something bigger, badder, or maybe with just more backup, is going to take out Deathscythe, and therefore, Pilot 02. Meaning me, of course. Sometimes, I think maybe I deserve it, that when the time comes, all I'll feel is relief. I'm a killer, a trained death-machine. I don't call myself Shinigami and take on the mask of Death just for kicks. Although, it is kind of fun to see the expression on people's faces when they realize the bogeyman haunting and terrorizing the Oz forces is actually a teenaged boy who's not even old enough to shave.  
  
I lick the spoon for the last of the ice cream, then take the glass with me to my bed, all the blankets on the floor since the first night we got here. After draining it, I flop onto the cooled sheets, hands behind me head. The glitter of my cross laying across my bare chest distracts for a moment, then I sigh and look up to watch the ceiling fan. Damn memories, I hate 'em. Father Maxwell and Sister Helen flash through my mind for a moment before I push them away, not wanting the remember that short time of peace in my life right now. There is no room for peace in the world, however the illusion of it hangs over the silent pine trees and the heat haze surrounding the estate.  
  
Blinking at my thoughts, I close my eyes and try to sleep. I'm almost afraid to, not wanting to see the black and white landscape my dreams have become. I think it's to hide all the red it would otherwise be, soaked in the blood trail of my life. I am Death, its touch following me since I was a kid on L-2. Growling in frustration, I realize this isn't working. I seem to be bent on taking a lengthy trip down memory lane today. Grumbling, I get out of bed and start pacing, a habit I've had for as long as I can remember. This way, I feel ready for quick action, to do my whole fight or flight gig at any moment. I may run and hide, but I never tell a lie. Damn, but it's true. If I run and hide, I can always recoup and strike again the next time, with more precise results. Death, usually.  
  
Running a hand through my bangs, I frown. "Damn, but I'm depressing myself, even!" Shaking my head, I continue pacing, thoughts thick and crazy in my mind.  
  
Drifting back to L-2 Colony, I remember my adoptive brother, Solo. Dead of the sickness that killed so many on the deprived, floundering colony, I think about what kind of man he would have been. Strong, brave, a true leader, unlike me. I seemed to live up to his name more than mine, being better doing work alone, or with me in control of one half of a mission, basically given free reign. Quatre and Heero were the real leaders of this group, if we had any at all. Close to death myself, the Maxwell Church had taken me and many other L-2 orphans in and cared for us. I was one of a scant few to survive, and I shudder at the closeness of my escape from the true Death. That short time, with adults who really cared for me, had given me my last name, after the death of everyone when the Alliance soldiers burned down the church, all the people locked inside. That memory, of returning to the charred ruins and smoke of my only haven, was a very painful one, and shoved down the lump in my throat.  
  
Everything after that was just a wild, crazy ride to becoming a Gundam pilot, under the tutelage of Dr. G. Training, memorizing, training, working hard and long, learning the ins and outs of my new partner, the cold metal replacement for a face I barely remembered anymore. Oh, and more training. Solo was dead, Father Maxwell and Sister Helen, too, and all because of the anger Earth felt towards the colonies, and the war it was causing. I saw it as my chance to do something, and I wouldn't pass it up. I would bring Death with me, as those soldiers had brought death and fire onto the only people to care for me. Thus was born Shinigami, the darker side of me. At first, it was a mask I wore during fighting, but somehow, Duo Maxwell became the mask, and Shinigami the real person. The ease with which I'd pulled my gun on Quatre, a friend and comrade, and been reserved and calm, ready to shoot, showed how close to the surface my other half was.  
  
Everything I'd ever loved or cared about was gone, dead, the only reminders a cross around my neck, a braid down my back, and the black warrior machine hidden in a bunker under the estate. They were the only physical connections to my troubled past, and held vast sentimental value, but I knew if it came to losing one of them, or completing my mission, I would give up my past in a heartbeat. That was how much of a soldier I'd become, how dark the underside of my skin was becoming. Soon, I'd be Perfect Soldier 02, as emotionless and focused as Heero Yui claimed to be.  
  
Something twitches as I think about the dark-haired pilot 01, but I shrug it off, not willing to acknowledge anything about it.  
  
All the pilots have had troubled lives, injured pasts, mental and physical scars from the war and the time before it. Some were worse than others, I knew. Heero's was probably the worst, trained since he was a child to kill. Following that came Trowa Barton, growing up with mercenaries and battle scarred and hardened men, making him a silent, withdrawn, and watchful young man, pilot of Heavyarms. I had to admit I was next, with life starting out as an orphan on the streets, then having my best friend die in front of me, and soon after any adults who cared about me. Being a pilot was almost a relief. Wu Fei Chang was fourth, his child-wife dying in battle, her legacy living on in Shenlong, or Nataku as Wu Fei called his Gundam. Quatre Rebarba Winner was last, having had parents, sisters, servants, and money all his young life. Only his empathic ability and his naturally caring heart had led him to become the pilot of Sandrock. We're all pretty screwed up in one way or the other, I suppose.  
  
My pacing stops and I sit on the edge of my bed, feeling drained and tired all of a sudden. I drift around in my mind, remembering the most recent events. Trowa was recovering from his loss of memory, almost completely his old self again. Quatre was finally over the whole Wing Zero episode he'd had, and he and Trowa had gotten a lot closer these days. I mean a lot closer. They shared the same bedroom now, and I always glimpsed these shared looks they would have. It was love, and I knew it. I was happy for them, I really was. Everyone had a right to some small amount of comfort during these bloody, crazed times. That thought brought me up short. If that were true, then where was my comfort? What a joke. Shinigami needs no one.  
  
Fed up with myself, I crawl back up to the head of the bed and this time really gave sleep a try. It works, too, and I'm out like a light, cool air blowing all around me. I don't even remember my dreams, other than registering that, again, they were all in black and white.  
  
I shoot up in bed with a shout, reaching for my gun as the pounding on my door continues. Growling in annoyance, I hope it isn't one of my friends, so I can legitimately shoot whoever is on the other side.  
  
"What?!" I bark, gun held tightly in both hands. The pounding stops and a muffled voice comes through.  
  
"Duo! We've gotten our orders, we need you downstairs, now," is Heero's reply, authority rich in his voice. Gag, I think, hating being ordered around. I realize I'm still in my boxers and shrug. They'd woken me up, they could deal with my more than half-naked state. I wrench open the door and glare at the other pilot, gun still in my hand. An unfamiliar emotion crosses his face as he takes in my lack of clothes, but with Heero, you never can tell what he's thinking.  
  
"Fine, damn it! I was sleeping!" I grumble, pushing past him to trudge down the stairs, muttering the whole way. I hate being woken up, too. I was sleeping really well, for once. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, still glowering at everything and anything in my path, I stomp into the living room where the other three are already sitting. They turn to look at me as soon as they hear my low profanities, and all three have a sort of stunned look on their faces. Quatre starts developing a blush, and I glare at him, too. "He woke me up, and I don't care," I snap, sprawling on the other side of the sofa Wu Fei was occupying. He shifts slightly as I lay my right hand down on the middle cushion, still clutching my gun.  
  
Heero chooses that moment to walk in, forestalling any comments on my choice of dress. Without glancing at me, he starts. "The mission parameters request that Duo and I do a hit and run job on a base farther North, up by the old D.C. capitol. Using our Gundams, of course," he adds, getting to the point quickly. Everyone nods slightly, eyes turning to me.  
  
"Hn." I answer, still sullen at the rude awakening and my reaction. It seems like all I do these days was point guns at people, or Gundam weapons. Quatre's usually calm, easy face wrinkles with concern, studying me more closely. I want to make some sort of lewd comment about him checking me out, but decide against it, not feeling like an argument, even a joking one, right now. Knowing I had to ease my friend's worry, I stick my tongue out at him and make a face, assuming my Duo mask again. Shinigami has come home to stay, I think with regret. I'm a killer all the time now, not just inside Deathscythe.  
  
"The rest of you will be staying here for this mission, we've still got a few more weeks at this base. We'll be back before you leave again," Heero concludes, nodding at the other three who accepted it all without question. The Perfect Soldier turns to me, his face as usual blank, his eyes, though beautiful, were cold. "We leave tomorrow at dawn, be ready." Leaving it at that, he turns and walks away, no doubt going to hunch over his computer for the rest of the night.  
  
"Great, just what I wanted," I moan, flinging an arm over my eyes dramatically. The silence in the room had been killing me. "Coming back to this preview of hell was definitely at the top of my list for 'Fun Things Duo Wants to Do'! Not!" Wu Fei actually gives me a sympathetic look, and I grin back. "Quatre, was your family crazy when they built this place here, in Texas? The state with the worst summers in the U.S. of A.?" The blonde shrugs helplessly.  
  
"We don't use this estate very often, and it's usually during the winter," he explains, his eyes carefully fixed on mine, openly avoiding looking below my neck. I fight down the urge to smile seductively, seeing that Trowa's arm is loosely wrapped around Quatre's waist. "Of course, the locals down here have a saying that applies during every season but summer. If you don't like the weather, wait ten minutes. The only type of weather that lasts here is the heat." Shrugging again, he adds, "Winner Corp. also has shares in most of the oil pockets in Texas, so my father felt obligated to at least show the pretense of understanding the lifestyle down here."  
  
"Well, I can tell you this," I begin, getting to my feet again. "If it weren't for the four of you, I wouldn't even bother wearing these," I admit, motioning to the only thing keeping me decent; my gray cotton boxers. Quatre turns bright pink as I laugh loudly, stalking back to my room to brood some more before we leave in the morning.  
  
"Aren't you going to eat with us?" Trowa calls, bringing me to a stop. I consider holding up the mask for another two hours, and decide against it. Tomorrow I won't need to hide Shinigami at all, and I need to be fresh from strain to do my job.  
  
"Nah, I'm not hungry," I answer back, knowing that it will worry them, but not really caring at this point. I'm tired again, and depressed, and my god damn gun is still in my hand. I hadn't put it down since I'd left my room. "This really blows." I slam my bedroom door and collapse on the bed again, after placing my gun on the nightstand where I'd picked it up. Taking a pillow and putting it over my head, I try to get a few more hours sleep before Heero pounds on my door in the morning. Black and white dreams haunt my sleep the rest of the night.  
  
Morning comes, and for once I'm already up when Heero knocks. My hair in a tight braid, my usual black clothes and black gun ready for travel, I open the door and step out without a word. None of the others are awake yet, and I don't mind not having to say goodbye to them. It was never pleasant when you knew that goodbye could be your last. Heero gives me a brief nod as we head out, our only luggage a small duffel bag each. Medical supplies, change of clothes, Heero's laptop. We travel light.  
  
"The coordinates have been transferred to your Gundam," he states, making his way to his own Gundam. Raking a hand through my loose bangs, I walk out into the early morning humidity, the only time here when the air is wet. By ten in the morning, all the moisture will have been burned off, leaving it just hot.  
  
Climbing up into Deathscythe is like putting my hands on a pan on the stove. He's black, and even though it's early, the metal is already stinging to the touch. I pop the hatch and settle into a sauna, the cockpit stuffy and heavy with heat. I power up and turn on the air filters, relaxing slightly as it cools down somewhat. At least I can breathe.  
  
"Ready whenever you are, Heero," I acknowledge over the com, more than ready to get off the ground and out of this state. His face appears on the screen and he nods as usual. Taking that as my good-to-go signal, I hit the blasters and haul ass out of there, feeling the familiar rush of adrenaline as Shinigami steps onto the field of battle once again. "God, but it's good to be up again!" I yell excitedly, knowing Heero will hear me. I'm a man of action, I can't stay in one place too long. Trying to make a home somewhere seems ridiculous to me, having one base to return to, an easy target.  
  
As our Gundams race across the sky, I can feel my familiar old grin coming on, the one that isn't Duo, but Shinigami, peering out at all the fearing mortals. A dark laugh fills the small space I sit in as I imagine the reaction of the base we're hitting when they see the two most feared of the pilots bearing down on them. Wing and Deathscythe are perfect compliments to each other. I don't dare imagine the same thing of their pilots, though. Heero is too much a mystery to me, and the emotions I feel when he's around are too confusing.  
  
For distraction, I begin reading the mission statement as we fly. It's actually a night hit, and we'll land about five miles out from the base to wait out the day. Part of the plan is for me to plant some charges on the opposite side of the base we'll be attacking, a diversion that will take some of the man power away from our zone of attack, a mobile suit bunker. Not as many deaths that way, although there are always some. I memorize the base layout, checking that I've got enough charges in my duffel, the detonator slipped into my pocket.  
  
"We're here." He startles me for a second. We'd been flying silent for two hours. Bringing Deathscythe down to the clearing in a patch of woods outside the base, I hop out and hit the ground in a crouch, gun ready. Wing comes down right after me, Heero out of his cockpit a moment later. His gun is also up and ready, and I ponder the fact that I'm just as paranoid as Perfect Soldier boy these days. After checking the clearing, we both lower our weapons and turn to each other.  
  
"You want me to set the charges now, or wait a while?" I ask, all business. I know my eyes are cold, empty violet pools, my face too still and quiet. My other half has taken over again, the only time when it's appropriate. Heero pauses to think.  
  
"Yes, do it. The better prepared we are for the strike tonight, the easier it will go," he explains as I turn to leave, duffel already slung over my back. "Duo- " Something in his voice stops me, and I turn back to look at him. That strange emotion from when he woke me up yesterday is back, his brows furrowed with it.  
  
"What?" Softly, I ask. He shrugs uncomfortably for a second, my eyebrows rising in surprise. Heero Yui, showing emotion and being uncomfortable? Not possible. When he doesn't speak, I start walking again.  
  
"Just - be careful." Shocked, I blink at him for a minute. He won't look at me, his dark blue eyes turned off to stare into the surrounding trees.  
  
"Uh, sure thing, Heero." Giving him a look that I'm sure he saw, I walk into the trees to complete the first part of the mission. An hour later, I'm on one of the last charges, tongue between my teeth as I hang upside down from a convenient bar, fingers sure and steady as I clip the charge to the underside of a small fuel tower on the edge of the base. Sighing in relief, I drop to the ground, only to feel a cold metal barrel pressed to the back of my head. "Shit."  
  
"What are you doing? You don't belong on this base," the obviously genius Oz soldier demands, turning me to face him. At 5'7", I'm not very tall, though it is to be expected at my age. This guy, however, is shorter than I am, and he has a mustache and everything. Twenties at least, and done growing. I almost feel bad for him. Almost. Thinking I can maybe talk my way out, I give him a grin.  
  
"Ah, ya caught me, man! I was coming here to see about signing up, but I realized that I'm just not cut out for it. I could never match an Oz officer, such as yourself," I shamelessly flatter the sucker. I watch as his chest swells with pride at being called an officer by a civilian, when he's clearly on the lowest end of the ranks.  
  
"Well, really, young man," he begins, his voice and manner pompous. "I'm sure we could find a suitable position for you. Why don't you come with me to HQ, inside the base? We can talk to some people I'm sure would be glad to have you." I listen for undertones, knowing there are always two meanings to some words. I don't hear any intentions of using me as anything other than a recruit added to his record of helping the cause, so I shrug.  
  
"I really need to get back home, sir. I sort of didn't tell my mom I was coming here," I admit sheepishly, feigning a blush. "I was just going to check it out, first, ya know?" Playing the role of the kid with his hand in the cookie jar, I shuffle my feet. Giving me a sympathetic look, the moron pats my shoulder.  
  
"I know how parents can be, son," he assures me, and I nearly choke on laughter. This guy was crazy! "Why don't you bring her up here next time, and you can have her talk to the captain. I'm sure he'll explain how much you'll be helping the Earth if you join up," he added, grinning at me and clapping me on the back like an older brother or something. What a sap.  
  
"I'll do that, sir. Thank you," I start, but suddenly we're interrupted by another soldier coming around the corner of the tower next to us and giving a shout.  
  
"Samson, what are you doing!? That's one of the Gundam pilots!" The guy next to me, Samson, looks shocked. The soldier who interrupted us pulls his gun and starts shooting, and I'm forced to pull out my own piece. Knowing if I don't take care of these two, our mission will be blown, I turn to the naïve, kindhearted Samson who was stupid enough to sign up with Oz.  
  
"Sorry, man," I say coldly, blowing the back of his head off quickly. Blood and thicker things splatter me, but I don't pause as the other guy keeps firing. I duck and roll around the tower, gun clutched in my hand. I know I've been shot, and I think it's pretty bad, but the pain is distant as I wait for the tell-tale clicking as he runs out of bullets. Whipping around the corner, I fire almost pointblank into his startled face. As his body falls to the ground with a hollow thud, I listen for sounds of soldiers coming to investigate the gunfire. Satisfied that we were far enough away from the base to escape notice, I manage to drag both bodies about a hundred yards into the woods, knowing they won't be missed for a while. I can't risk more attention to set the rest of the charges, and the important ones were done first anyway.  
  
"Shit!" I growl, my breathing heavy as I feel blood running down my leg. I've got a gut wound, and I'm pretty sure it's hit some organs or arteries. There's a lot of blood already, soaking my shirt and jacket, spreading to my jeans. "Well, fuck!" I don't feel an exit wound in my back, either, so the bullet is lodged somewhere inside me. Holding my right arm over the wound, I grab my duffel and make my way back to the other side of the base, heading out into the woods to circle around and meet up with Heero and the Gundams.  
  
As I stumble through the trees, my head light with blood loss, I realize I'm not going to tell Heero I've been hit. He'll make me stay out of the fight. I know this wound is a bad one, between the organs already hit, blood loss, and the bullet still inside to tear up more tissue. I'm probably not going to make it back to the safehouse. I want go out with my Gundam, my Deathscythe. I chuckle thickly as I realize I'd only just been thinking about how the war will kill at least some of us, yesterday.  
  
When the clearing comes into sight, I straighten up and walk normally, not hunching over the hole in my gut. I trust my jacket to hide the blood as I reach the Gundams. Heero is sitting on Wing's foot, waiting and motionless. He looks at me as I approach.  
  
"How'd it go?" His question surprises me. I grunt, swinging up onto Deathscythe and climbing to the cockpit. As I pop it open and step inside, I call over my shoulder.  
  
"Nothing Shinigami couldn't handle!" My voice is light, without betraying the pain I'm feeling. "Had to take out two Oz morons, but nobody'll find 'em before we hit it tonight," I add, reassuring him and myself. "I'm taking a nap, signal when it's time." With that, I slam the hatch down and haul myself into my pilot's chair, wincing as I jar my side.  
  
The right leg of my jeans is almost completely soaked with blood now, and as I peel my shirt up to get a look at the wound, I nearly make myself sick on seeing the shining surface of part of my intestine showing through the hole. This is really, really bad. His one shot had almost disemboweled me. I know for sure I'm going to die, now.  
  
I lie back in my seat, reaching for my duffel and some bandages, knowing they won't do much good, other than slow the flow of blood. I don't have a lot of time left, organs are shifting inside me that shouldn't be, and I'd lost too much blood. Even if I went to a hospital now, there was a pretty slim chance the docs there could do anything other than make me comfortable. I painstakingly wrap a few lengths of bandage around my stomach, pale and sweating by the time I'm done. I want to take something for the pain, but I can't, needing a clear head for battle in a few hours.  
  
"God, I don't want to die," I whisper suddenly, fingers clutching my braid tightly. A memorial to all the people who'd died, all the people who I've killed. Who would remember all of them if I died? Who will remember me when I die? Nobody.  
  
The hours until the attack pass slowly as my life drain out of a hole in my side and I grow weaker. I can only hope I'll stay conscious long enough to be of use to Heero. Just thinking his name makes me flinch. I'm half in love with the bastard, at least. How stupid is that? In love with the Perfect Soldier? His emotionless Highness? What an idiot I am.  
  
I gaze around the dim cockpit, knowing this is probably the last place I'll see. I don't really mind. I've done a lot of good things from here, and also most of my sins. I only wish I could live to see the end of the war. Theoretically, there will be an end, at least to this one. I wish I could admit to Heero how I feel, but of course that would be pointless. He'd either ignore me or kill me. On second thought, if he'd kill me, maybe I should tell him, just so my death will be quick.  
  
I blink slowly and realize I'm burning up. I've got a fever, and it feels like I'm back in that state of hell down south. Sweat is slick on my body, and I'm shaking like a leaf. I think I'm going into shock as well. I manage to glance down and realize my seat is coated with blood, the bandage not really working. Yep, this was really fucking bad.  
  
Suddenly, the com beeps an incoming message, and I receive it, not turning on my view screen to send. Heero's face appears, and he looks confused that he can't see me, too.  
  
"Duo, is your com malfunctioning?" he asks, brows furrowed in that familiar look. I take a deep breath, willing all pain and weakness from my voice.  
  
"Yeah, I can see you, but I don't think it's sending," I reply, tapping my screen for sound effects. Just to pretend I'm trying to fix it. "I'll have a look at it when we get back to the safehouse. Everything else is at optimum," I state, my voice brisk, no strain evident. He nods in acceptance, knowing I wouldn't lie about my Gundam's condition right before an attack.  
  
"Good. We're moving out, detonate the charges you set." The screen goes blank and I slowly manage to pull the detonator from my pocket, pressing the switch. A dull boom is heard in the distance, even through Deathscythe's metal hull, and I feel a death's-head grin coming on. Being Shinigami isn't so bad, and I know I'm on my way to meet him, anyway.  
  
I power up the rest of the war machine beneath me, lifting off the ground and taking off, right behind wing. Weapons at the ready, the two of us descend on the low-manned bunker of mobile suits like bats out of Hell. They never knew what hit them. It was an easy mission, really, most of the suits were only half built, or older models. I feel sick irony that such an easy kill has instead killed me. As the flames and smoke billow up from the destroyed base and suits, we turn our machines back towards Texas, Mission Complete.  
  
I cough heavily and try not to panic as blood speckles the control panel in front of me. I don't know if I'll even make it back to the safehouse. Two hours in flight might just do me in, and the fever and pain are starting to make my flying erratic. I hope Heero doesn't notice before we make it back to base. I want to die inside Deathscythe, not propped up on the ground somewhere, or in a hospital cot. I clip a tree top, not realizing I'd flown that low. Wing is ahead of me, and doesn't see it. Another cough and more blood. Very bad sign.  
  
Two hours of pain, coughing, trying to keep Deathscythe flying straight. I'm beyond exhaustion when we reach the Piney Woods. I'm covered in blood, Deathscythe's cockpit is sprayed with it, and I feel like I'm being burned alive. I land next to Wing carefully, my last act as a pilot, perfect. I close my eyes for what I'm sure is the last time and let myself drift. All the pilot's faces come to mind, and I send up a prayer that Quatre and Trowa can have a life together after this blood bath. I hope Wu Fei finds peace with his memories and puts Nataku to rest. But most of all, I hope Heero learns to be human again. I'm pretty sure he was born a human, after all.  
  
I pretend not to notice the tears slipping down my face. This isn't how I wanted to die, if I had a choice. A blaze of glory, a kamikaze dive into an enemy ship when I've run out of fire power, locked in battle with another suit and self-destructing, maybe. But slowly bleeding to death with my guts in all the wrong places, definitely not at the top of my list. I feel it all slipping away, the hollow sounds of someone pounding on the hatch too far away for me to care. I think I hear a gunshot, but all I can see is light as the hatch pops open. A choked gasp, not my own, echoes in my ears just before I slide into oblivion. 


	2. Part Two of Three

Black and White  
  
Part Two  
  
By: The Firefaery R: Gore  
  
****  
  
(Day Before, Heero's POV)  
  
I hear the others downstairs as Quatre calls everyone in for sundaes and lemonade or something. I briefly consider going down to join them, but decide against it. The keys of my laptop fill my room with their endless clicking sound, a comfort and familiar. The hours pass unnoticed as I sink into a trance, the screen with its flickering lights and numbers my only view. The stream of data is abruptly halted as a message pops up on the screen.  
  
"Mission Accepted," I murmur, the routine engrained in me. Sending the appropriate coordinates to Wing and my partner on this mission, I head downstairs to brief the others. Quatre and Trowa I find in the kitchen, dinner being close to done. The hours I'd been up in my room were long. "We have a mission," I inform them, turning to find the other two. Wu Fei is already in the living room, his precious katana held across his knees, eyes closed in meditation. "Wu Fei, we have a mission," I interrupt, his black eyes snapping open to look at me. He nods once, as Quatre and Trowa file in and sit on one of the two sofas. "Where is Duo?"  
  
"Up in his room, I'm sure," Quatre answers. "You know he hates this heat, and he spends all day up there in the A/C with the door shut." I nod and turn to head back upstairs. Upon reaching his door, I pause, hearing no sounds from within other than the constant A/C noise. I try not to let it, but worry brims in me. Duo is never this quiet. Feeling unsure, I pound ruthlessly on the door, not like the emotions he brings out in me. I know Quatre and Trowa are a 'couple' per say, but it's not something I envision for myself. Maybe after the war, when no Perfect Soldier is needed -  
  
I hear a shout from within, and almost consider breaking down the door. "What?" Duo's disgruntled voice snaps through the door, bringing me relief. Annoyed at myself, I call back to him.  
  
"Duo! We've gotten our orders, we need you downstairs, now." I put all my garnered authority into it, trying to distance myself from this boy who brings me so much confusion. I am about to turn and leave, when the door swings inward, Duo in the doorway. A half-naked Duo in the doorway, with a gun in his hand.  
  
"Fine, damn it! I was sleeping!" he growls, clearly upset at being awakened so rudely. Duo and I are about the same size, though I think he's taller and I have broader shoulders. The sight of him standing there, clad only in boxers, is doing strange things to me. He pushes past me and stomps downstairs, leaving me still standing at his door, a warm feeling filling my face. I'm almost angry as I get the blush under control and head downstairs, hearing Duo tell someone, "He woke me up, and I don't care," in a disagreeable voice. So he'd walked out of his room almost naked on purpose? How distracting. I walked in at that point.  
  
"The mission parameters request that Duo and I do a hit and run job on a base farther North, up by the old D.C. capitol. Using our Gundams, of course," I add, turning to look at the braided youth next to an uncomfortable Wu Fei. Duo's right hand still clutches his gun, I don't think he even realizes he has it.  
  
Stealing my line, he answers, "Hn." I can only be left to wonder why being woken up has left him so unlike himself. Brushing other thoughts aside, I concentrate on the other three.  
  
"The rest of you will be staying here for this mission, we've still got a few more weeks at this base. We'll be back before you leave again." Having informed them of their part in this, I turn to look at Duo again, schooling my expression back to indifference when it begins to slip. "We leave tomorrow at dawn, be ready." Not wanting to deal with my emotions in his presence, I turn around and leave, heading back to my room. I vaguely hear him start complaining to Quatre when my door shuts out the noise.  
  
Sitting down at my desk once again, I try to return to the trance I'd been brought out of earlier, but fail. My thoughts are for once too distracting. I can't seem to get Duo Maxwell out of my head, and I don't like it. Emotions are a weakness I can not afford now, when we are so close to ending this. I don't think the others realize how close we are, but if we finish off the White Fang, I believe Oz will fall quickly after that. And we are very close to finishing the White Fang. Our brief stay in this state in the U.S. is only a time of regrouping before the final attack.  
  
Realizing I won't be able to work on my computer anymore this night, I strip off my boots and tank top and lay down on the bed, closing my eyes and preparing for sleep. I know Quatre has dinner downstairs, but thinking is easier for me on an empty stomach. Sleep eludes me, frustrating me. I turn on my side, willing myself to sleep. My thoughts drift around, settling on the one subject I don't want to think about.  
  
I don't know when Duo started effecting me this way. It may have been the first day we met on the dock with Relena, and he shot me. I recognized a young boy similar to myself, a hardened warrior who probably had as troubled a past as my own. When I realized later that he was also a Gundam pilot, the resemblance was even closer. But once I began to know him in person, our personalities were revealed to be completely opposite. At least on the surface.  
  
Duo is often loud, obnoxious, over-excited, rude, vulgar, and annoying. Wu Fei, at least, can attest to these things. He smiles too much, laughs too freely, and is always dragging the four of us to pointless 'outings' like the movies, arcades, malls, fast food joints, and a dozen other places. He says it's to remind us that we're just teenagers, even though we've killed more people than most adults will ever do, even those who work for Oz. I see the others smiling, laughing even, and even uptight Wu Fei relaxes on these trips a little. It's very confusing for me. I don't know how to remember I'm a teenager. I've never been one before.  
  
The three most important things to Duo are his cross, his braid, and Deathscythe, his Gundam. I wonder what he'd do in a situation where he had to pick between one of them and the mission. I can only hope that never happens, because if he chooses wrong, I'll have to kill him. Even if I do -care- for him. I don't know how to use the word love. It's too dangerous an emotion. I see Quatre and Trowa displaying it often, and I sometimes can't believe how easily they show their weakness for each other to the world.  
  
I finally manage to fall asleep, my dreams forgotten to me as always. My internal alarm goes off at precisely five a.m. and I get out of bed, put my boots and shirt back on, and pack my duffel with medical supplies, my laptop, and a change of clothes. I'm ingrained to carry light. At five- fifteen, I'm ready to leave, and I go to wake Duo. Finding him already awake, I'm surprised.  
  
"The coordinates have been transferred to your Gundam," I tell him, heading outside to mount up in Wing. He follows, and I watch him wince as the hot black metal of his Gundam scorches his hands. I climb up quickly into Wing and settle myself in the cockpit, hatch closing above me. Doing a systems check, all appears in working order. A voice comes over the com.  
  
"Ready whenever you are, Heero," Duo calls, face appearing briefly on the screen. I nod, acknowledging my readiness, and we both power up, lifting into the air. The familiar rush fills me, and I can't stop a smile from cracking my face as we speed through the sky. "God, but it's good to be up again!" Duo yells wildly, excitement thick in his voice. I laugh softly, enjoying this moment for what it's worth. I think about what I could say to him, after the war is over. That I care for him, love him more than a friend? That I'd like to learn how to be a teenager, a human, from him? I want to learn how to express my emotions, for him and the rest of the people who have helped us during the war. And for those we've ourselves helped. Of course, that all depends on surviving the war in the first place. I look up and realize we've reached our destination.  
  
"We're here," I warn Duo, watching as he lands Deathscythe in the clearing below us. I guide Wing down next to them, popping the hatch and stepping out. My gun is in my hand and ready to use, should we be ambushed, and I nod approvingly to myself to see Duo has his out also. After clearing the area, I lower my gun as Duo turns to me.  
  
"You want me to set the charges now, or wait a while?" His face is serious and devoid of his usual emotion, the Death God coming to the fore, as he calls himself. I sometimes believe him.  
  
"Yes, do it. The better prepared we are for the strike tonight, the easier it will go," I decide, watching as he begins to head off towards the base, duffel of explosives over one shoulder. Suddenly, some strange feeling comes over, a fear I've never felt before. I don't want him to do this. "Duo- " He stops and turns to me, brow scrunched in confusion. I realize I want to tell him how I feel, I know something is going to happen today that may take away my chance later.  
  
"What?" His voice is soft, questioning. I don't know how to say what I want to.  
  
"Just - be careful." It's all I can manage. I'm just too good a soldier, the Perfect Soldier. It's impossible for me to show emotion, even to someone I've come to care about. I'm not supposed to even feel emotion. Obviously, that isn't working anymore. He looks shocked and surprised, and I know I'm being out of character. I can't look at him, so I stare out into the trees around us.  
  
"Uh, sure thing, Heero." When I turn around, he's gone. I'm left alone in my thoughts. I don't know what's wrong with me as I go to sit on Wing's foot, waiting for his return and the start of the mission this evening.  
  
What did I have to offer somebody like Duo, anyway? He deserved a woman, for one. I did realize that we couldn't have children together, and that was something that I know would bother some men. He deserved a normal human being, for another. He would have to show or explain a lot of things to me about relationships, if we did have one after the war. And added to that, there was no certainty that he would wait until after the war to choose somebody else to love. That thought was a sour one, and I leaned back, not willing to go any farther in my thoughts. After the war, we would see what we would see.  
  
An hour or so later, Duo comes strolling into camp, looking fine. Something is off, but I'm not sure what it is. His walk is different then usual, and for a moment I wonder if he's been wounded. "How'd it go?" I know he won't lie to me. Duo Maxwell never lies.  
  
"Nothing Shinigami couldn't handle!" he crows, grinning at me as he climbs into Deathscythe. "Had to take out two Oz morons, but nobody'll find 'em before we hit it tonight," he assures me. "I'm taking a nap, signal when it's time." I shrug off my uneasiness, blaming it on my unfamiliar emotions clouding my mind. It was just more proof that now was not the time to become involved with someone. I pull out my laptop and sink into my very familiar trance, keys clicking dully in the wide-open clearing. An internal clock goes off and the fading light around me tells me it's time. I climb up into Wing and signal Duo's com system. I can hear him pick up and move around, but no picture comes up on the screen.  
  
"Duo, is your com malfunctioning?" I ask, worry about the performance of his Gundam making my brow furrow.  
  
"Yeah, I can see you, but I don't think it's sending," he replies, and I hear him tapping against the screen, trying to get it to work. "I'll have a look at it when we get back to the safehouse. Everything else is at optimum," he adds as an extra assurance. I know he never gives false info about his machine, so I trust his words.  
  
"Good. We're moving out, detonate the charges you set." I close the connection, waiting for the explosion in the distance before powering up and taking off, going in for the attack on the mobile suits. It was amazing how easily they all fell.  
  
"Mission Complete," I murmur into the silent confines of Wing, feeling a sense of satisfaction at having carried out the mission almost exactly as planned. We head back towards the south, the hours of flying very mechanical and without thought for me. I wonder what Duo is thinking at this moment, but can't bring myself to contact him over the com. I notice his erratic flying a few times, but dismiss it as Duo screwing around for kicks.  
  
We reach the base after a few hours of low flying and land precisely on the low hill we'd left. I hop out of Wing, dragging my duffel with me. Quatre, Trowa, and Wu Fei come out to meet us, Quatre looking relieved. Wu Fei, Trowa, and I exchange nods as Quatre places a welcoming hand on my shoulder. From him, I'll tolerate it.  
  
"Welcome back, Heero. I trust the mission was completed? Are you and Duo injured at all?" the small blonde queries, trying to hide his anxious look. I sigh internally.  
  
"The mission was successful. Duo and I are unharmed," I reassure him, turning to head into the house. A hand on my shoulder stops me, and I turn to see Wu Fei with a worried expression on his face.  
  
"Why hasn't Maxwell come out of his Gundam yet?" His question jolts me, and I whip around to see that he's correct. Duo, usually impatient to get back to the other pilots, always flying out of his cockpit to hug Quatre, was not present.  
  
Quatre brings his own worried face back up, heading towards Deathscythe, calling Duo's name. Trowa, silent until now, turns to me.  
  
"You're sure he wasn't injured?" he demands, his green eye boring into me. I return his look without flinching.  
  
Growling, "He didn't say anything, and you know how Duo is. He always complains when he's hurt!" I bark out, bringing a surprised look from Wu Fei and Trowa. The tall, brown haired boy shakes his head gravely.  
  
"Minor scratches, he does. But remember when he got a knife in his leg a few months ago? Never a sound, and he lost a lot of blood. For serious injuries, Duo always stays silent." I'm made fearful by his words and turn back to the still silent Deathscythe as Quatre climbs up and begins pounding on the hatch.  
  
"Duo! Duo, are you in there? Are you hurt?" the Arabian cries, his face paler than usual. No response is heard, and now I know something is wrong. Duo always admits to Quatre when he's hurt, maybe trusting the blonde more than the rest of us. "Heero, I can't get the hatch open!" Quatre yells down, looking panicked. I pull my gun and climb up beside him.  
  
"Get back!" I yell, taking aim at the seal and latch of the hatch and firing. I hear the hiss as the hatch pops open. It's too dark to see for a moment, the light glistening strangely off the inside of the cockpit around the still figure inside. Suddenly, I find myself choking back a gasp as I realize Duo's body is covered in blood, his pants, shirt, and the chair around him soaked with it. Most of it was still wet, the surface catching and throwing back the light. The pilot himself is deathly pale, his lips red with blood and skin slick with sweat.  
  
"What!?" Quatre yells, pushing me aside in my shocked state. "Is Duo all- " He stops abruptly and all the color drains from his face as he takes in the sight before him. "Trowa!" he screams, climbing inside. "Wu Fei! Call Sally Poe right now!" The two below us look stunned, too, and they don't even know what's going on.  
  
"But, Quatre, what- " Wu Fei begins, his expression confused and worried.  
  
"Do it, Wu Fei! Now, damn it!" Sandrock's pilot bellows as he carefully checks Duo's pulse. I watch Wu Fei scramble into the house to make the call as Trowa waits for more orders. "He's got a high fever and he's lost so much blood." Saying this, he turns to me. "I don't know if he'll make it, Heero." The words seem to break him as tears start down his face. I'm numb as I watch him strip blood-saturated garments off the one person I care about most. He finds the gunshot wound to Duo's abdomen, and after unwrapping the makeshift bandage, even I can see that part his intestine is pushing through the gaping hole. "By Allah," I hear, fear and dismay coating the words. Quatre pales even more and looks slightly sick.  
  
"What do you need me to do?" Trowa calls finally, impatient with not knowing the condition of his fellow pilot and having no task to carry out for distraction.  
  
Shakily, Quatre replies, "We need any clean bandages, sheets, bedding, in the house. Hot water, latex gloves, sterilized needles." Trowa hurries to comply, leaving us alone with the dying 02. "With a wound like this, internal infection is a serious risk. We need to keep him as sterile as possible, Sally will give us more instructions when she gets here." He studies me closely. "Can you help me carry him down to the ground, Heero? We need to keep from jarring him as much as possible. I didn't find an exit wound in his back, so there's still a bullet inside of him. Moving him too roughly will cause it to do more damage." I nod briefly, the emotions so new to me completely locked away for the moment. A comrade is down, and he needs help. Duo is my only mission right now.  
  
We somehow manage to get him down to the ground without worsening the steady bleeding. I can barely hear the rattle in his chest, the only sign that he's still alive. Laying him out on the blankets Trowa brought out, I watch the Heavyarms pilot shake visibly as he takes in Duo's condition. The three of us lift the edges of the blankets up and walk slowly into the house, the sun beating our backs like a slave driver.  
  
Wu Fei is just hanging up the phone when we enter, the unconscious and mortally wounded pilot slung between us. His eyes graze over Duo's torso and stop at the large bullet wound, the glistening slip of intestine, the dried and drying blood all over his death-pale skin. He sways and lurches outside, becoming noisily sick in the bushes out front. His violent reaction barely registers as the others and I gently lay the fallen one down on the clear space of floor in front of one of the sofas, medical supplies all around it.  
  
"I'm going to sterilize my hands and put on gloves, then start cleaning off the blood. If you want to stay in here, I suggest everyone does the same," Quatre warns, heading to the kitchen. I follow him after a moment, the sound of water running a background noise. Watching him scrub up to his elbows, I follow suit, the water almost scalding hot and the soap a skin- stripping antiseptic brand. Drying them on a handy, clean white towel, he hands it to me, then snaps latex gloves into place. I do the same, and then we both return to the living room. Trowa, until now leaning against the door jam, nods to Quatre then goes outside, presumably to find Wu Fei.  
  
"There's no way we can take his pants off the normal way," Quatre begins, handing me a pair of steel shears as he reaches for some swabs and a basin of steaming water. Knowing I can't allow my other feelings for Duo to stop me from doing this, I begin to slowly cutting along the seam of his black jeans. My gloved hands are soon red with blood from the cloth, but ignoring this I keep on cutting, switching sides when I finish with the right leg. Completing the job, I peel the mutilated pants off his skin, slipping one, then the other leg out.  
  
Tossing the useless jeans behind me, I catch a glimpse of Duo's now red, once white, cotton boxers before looking to Quatre for more instruction. "Get his hair out of the way, first. Then I'll need you to wash the blood off his lower body. Anything allowed to stay will attract infection at this point, even sweat," he adds, tongue sticking out from between his teeth as he carefully cleans the edges of the wound, the skin around it already done.  
  
I move up to pull his braid out from underneath his body, not stopping myself from secretly caressing it's chestnut length. I feel my emotions resurface for a moment as I imagine him never braiding it again, never howling at Wu Fei for threatening, never silently playing with it and remembering his past when he thought no one was looking. I pile it next to his head, hoping we won't have to cut it off eventually.  
  
Grabbing some towels and wetting them down from Quatre's water basin, I begin washing the blood off his legs, the towels soon a watery crimson. His skin is so pale, and his breathing so shallow, that I know he doesn't have much of a chance. He must have known as soon as he was hit, how bad it was, or he would have told me. Knowing he didn't have much of a chance to live anyway, he chose to fight on, rather than going back to base ahead of me. Cursing him, wishing he'd just taken that chance of surviving, rather than giving up hope, I throw the used towels over by his jeans just as Sally, Trowa, and a very pale Wu Fei walk in.  
  
"God, Quatre! Wu Fei told me it was probably bad, but I would never have guessed," Sally murmurs, setting down several bags of supplies next to us and gently pushing us out of the way to examine him. "It's a good thing I came prepared. I've got a portable sonogram kit with me, and I'm going to assess the amount of internal injury here in a minute." Turning, the competent, calm woman reaches into a bag and pulls out several quarts of blood in plastic IV bags. "Do you have anything I can hang these from, Quatre?" she asked, looking around the room. Trowa quickly brings over a coat rack with several levels of hooks, looking apologetic.  
  
"Will this do?" His soft voice is almost too low to be heard. Sally nods, smiling.  
  
"That's perfect." She swabs a place on his forearm with alcohol, then deftly inserts a needle hooked to a tube, which she then attaches to one of the bags of blood and hangs from a midway-up hook. "As long as he's still bleeding, we'll need to keep this IV going, as well as to replace what he's already lost. I take it he lost a lot." At Quatre's solemn nod, she sighs. "Damn. I'm warning you now, he's got a very slim chance of making it through this. Between unknown internal injuries, a bullet or fragments still inside him, and the large chance of infection, especially if his intestine ruptured, he's lucky to be alive right now. He's already got a fever, and I'm about to set up another drip to pump him full of antibiotics. He's so out we won't need painkillers for a while."  
  
The next hour or so was tense as the four of us, after Trowa and Wu Fei washed up, watch her try to save our friend. Several times she was forced to do CPR or have Quatre do it, as Duo's breathing slowed down too much. The sonogram brought some relief as we learned his intestine hadn't ruptured itself, just the line that kept it separate from other organs. Several arteries were clipped by the bullet, explaining the massive blood loss, but none were completely severed. The bullet itself, just one large piece instead of the more complicated fragments it could have been, was lodged in his pelvis, the bone cracked and damaged around the impact point. Sally finally demanded that Trowa, Wu Fei, and I all leave, Quatre her designated assistant, as our pacing and agitated movements slowly drove her up the wall.  
  
"We're about to do major surgery on him, repairing the clipped arteries and the ruptured tissue around his intestines. I'm gonna get the bullet out of his pelvis, too. There are too many people in here that don't know what they're doing, and the less variables we add to the atmosphere, the smaller his chance of infection. So leave," she adds pointedly, seeing that the three of us don't get it at first.  
  
Reluctantly, at least on my part, we walk out of the room. I don't know where the others are going, but I head up to my room. It's the only place in this house that I feel like I can call my own at the moment. I just need to get away from everyone. I feel too light for my body, as though I'm about to float away. I can't explain it. Duo is down on the living room floor, still bleeding, and because of what we are, we can't risk taking him to a hospital. Major surgery is about to be performed in Quatre's living room. He already has a fever, and by my estimation he's been bleeding and exposed to Kami knows what kind of infectious disease for over eight hours. By all rights, he should already be dead.  
  
"I don't want him to die, though," I say softly, just realizing. It's dark in my room, night finally having fallen while we were inside, trying to save Duo Maxwell. I'm sitting at my desk, realizing I left my laptop downstairs somewhere. I don't want to bother getting it, at the moment. They told us to get out. I feel so confused right now, something I don't enjoy.  
  
The Perfect Soldier always knows what to do. I have lived so long destroying any emotions that surface, but this strange feeling I have for Duo refuses to go away. And I don't want it to, either. If I could, I would tell the other pilots how sick I am of being 01, Wing's pilot, the Perfect Soldier. It's all I've ever known, what I was trained to do for as long as I can remember, but I want to become human again. I know if Duo could tell me, he would want that, too. He tries to make all our lives more normal, as does Quatre, and none of us ever thank them for it.  
  
Running a hand roughly through my hair, I try to understand what I'm feeling. I care about Duo, I feel closer to being human when I'm with him. I respect him as a pilot, and as a warrior even without his suit. I've never experienced anything like this before. I've never been scared before, but I am. I'm scared that he'll die, that my only chance to regain my humanity will slip away from me because I wanted to wait until after the war. I don't know how to tell him that I want to be more than a friend. And what if he doesn't feel the same? I'm the Perfect Soldier, I'm not meant to have attachments like that. I don't know if I would be capable of dealing if he rejected me.  
  
"If he even lives," I whisper, my throat tight and clogged. "Otherwise, I won't need to worry about what he thinks." Bitterly, I scrub my hands over my face, alone in the confines of my room. Alone, like I've always been. I sit like this for I don't know how long, breathing slowly, trying to pull back all the emotions I'm feeling and don't want to.  
  
Hours later, "Heero?" Trowa's voice comes through my door, jerking me out of the daze I was in. Grunting, I haul myself up and open it.  
  
"What." Even to my ears, my voice is flat. The taller boy looks at me with worried green eyes.  
  
"Sally says she's done all she can. They've moved Duo to his room, all we can do now is keep him supplied with antibiotics, fluids, and company," he informs me, his bangs coming down to hide his right eye again. "His fever is still very high, though, and she isn't very confident about his chances," he adds more softly, expression troubled. I nod slightly, the only response I can make, then push past him to cross the hallway into Duo's room.  
  
His pale, still body is arranged comfortably on his bed, the room dim and quiet. The coat rack is next to the bed, a clear IV hooked up to his arm, presumably with antibiotic solution. Seeing him like this, when usually after a mission he would still be in the kitchen, begging more food off Quatre, or watching one of those old movies he loves, is too much for me. I'm not even aware of slamming my fist into the wall, or the sound of paneling cracking and digging into my skin. Blood drips onto the carpet as Trowa rushes in to find me cradling my head in my hands. My face is smeared with red, but I don't even notice.  
  
"Heero! What are you doing?" he cries, grabbing my injured hand and pulling me out of the room. Dragging me down the hall into a bathroom, he calls downstairs. "Quatre, can you come up here?" An affirmative shout floats up as Trowa turns on the faucet and shoves my hand under it. The water turns pink as the blood washes out of the slices. I watch dispassionately as he pulls out the largest of the splinters, throwing them in the trash can under the sink.  
  
"God, Heero, what is wrong with you? We've had enough blood around here to last us a lifetime," he hisses, pulling out an especially long one. I feel the stings and pain, but just accept it as a necessary duty. I should be the one dying, not Duo. Quatre enters just then, his face strained and his eyes rimmed in red. I assume he's been crying.  
  
"Trowa, what is it?" He catches sight of my mutilated hand and sighs.  
  
"Heero put his hand through the wall in Duo's room," Trowa explains angrily, pushing me to the floor and sitting on the closed lid of the toilet. "I think he's going to need a few stitches, can you bring me a needle, thread, and bandages?" His lover nods sadly, returning a few minutes later with the requested items. Trowa has moved on to tweezers, yanking the smallest splinters out with no gentleness or care. I never flinch once. I know he's taking his anger out on me.  
  
"Duo is going to make it, Heero. You have to believe that," Quatre admonishes. I turn to look into his clear, sky blue eyes, wishing I could have his hope. I know the odds, it's how I think. I know Duo is going to die. There is no use trying to fool myself.  
  
"Quatre, I am not a fool." Staring at the wall, I don't see his swing coming until my face is stinging from his slap.  
  
"Stop it right now, Heero Yui!" His voice is deathly calm, his eyes locked on mine. "If he is going to make it, we have to believe it. Even if he isn't awake, he can still hear what we say, sense our feelings. If all we feel is despair and hopelessness, all we talk about is how he's sure to die, then that's what he'll start to believe. We have to give him the strength to fight by knowing that he can."  
  
"You know he's right," Trowa adds, looking down at me. "Duo is so close now, the only thing keeping him breathing is his own will to live. He's a Gundam pilot, damn it! If anyone can pull out of this, it's him." They're both glaring at me, demanding I believe them. I'm so frightened at that moment, afraid what they say is just a lie. As Trowa starts stitching up my hand, I do something I've never done in my life. I cry.  
  
Quatre moves to sit beside me on the cold tile floor, putting his arm around my shaking shoulders. "You're in love with Duo, aren't you?" At my silent nod, unfamiliar tears making it too hard to speak, he gives me a small, knowing smile. "I think I already knew, but I just wanted to make sure. Does Duo know?"  
  
"No. I was going to wait until after the war to tell him. I am the Perfect Soldier. I am not meant to have emotions like this," I whisper hoarsely. At this, Quatre looks saddened.  
  
"Everyone is entitled to have emotions, Heero. That's what makes us human. I think on some level, you chose to wait until after the war so that if he didn't return your feelings, it wouldn't affect your performance as a soldier. Am I right?" Shocked at how he reads me so well suddenly, I can only nod. Sighing, he turns to look at Trowa. "Trowa and I felt that way at first, too. It took us a long time to get past our reluctance to reveal such a weakness to the enemy. But we realized something along the way." He looks seriously into my eyes, and for some reason I can't look away. "There might not be anything left after the war. We might not be left after the war. Look at what has happened to Duo. And his isn't the first life- threatening injury the Gundam pilots have sustained."  
  
I want to hide from him, run from this realization that I made the wrong choice. I should have told Duo how I felt. I knew something was going to happen yesterday at that base. Somehow, I felt it. But I did nothing, and now Duo might never know how much he means to me.  
  
"What do I do? What will I do if he- " I'm forced to stop, the idea of Duo dying is too much for me. I've never cared before if any of my fellow pilots live or die, but somehow, Duo has made me care for him.  
  
"I can't tell you what you should do. But I know Trowa and I made the right choice in being together now, instead of later," Sandrock's pilot admits, his face gentle as he and Heavyarms' pilot exchange one of their looks. Feeling lost and unsure, I nod to Trowa for thanks in bandaging my hand, then leave the crowded bathroom.  
  
Pausing at the silent door of his room, I can't help myself. Walking in and closing the door to just a crack, I pull the only free chair in the room over to his bed, sitting down and beginning my vigil. If he doesn't make it, I want to be here. If he does, I want to be here when he wakes up.  
  
"I love you, Duo." 


	3. Part Three of Three The FINAL Part

Black and White  
  
Part Three  
  
By: The Firefaery R: Gore  
  
*** (Three Days Later)  
  
"He's contracted pneumonia," Quatre informs the three of us quietly, his expression bleak. "In his weakened condition, the slightest chill is enough to make him ill. He probably already had it when we brought him out of Deathscythe." I know he's trying to say it isn't my fault, his eyes locking with mine for a moment. Wu Fei runs a hand over his face, looking pale under his bronze skin color. For unknown reasons, Duo's fallen state has effected him badly.  
  
"How bad is it?" the Chinese warrior demands, his dark eyes dull with lack of sleep. All of us have been watching our comrade hang in limbo, not worsening but never waking, either.  
  
"If we don't monitor his condition even more closely, he could develop fluid in his lungs or spike a fever high enough to kill him." The blonde looks at all of us. "He can't be left alone, even for a moment. He may become delirious, violent, or go into convulsions, and somebody needs to be there to administer the appropriate treatment or call for someone who can." We all know that this is a very bad sign, only lowering even farther the chances of Duo pulling through.  
  
"God, how much more can he take? He should be dead!" Trowa cries unexpectedly, all of us, even his lover, shocked. "Sorry," he mutters, looking embarrassed and uncomfortable. I've come to realize that Duo is a very large, important part of our group, even though we're not together very often. All of us have had one or two experiences with him that are some of our only good memories to come out of this war.  
  
Hours later, up in that all too familiar room, I listen stoically to his labored breathing. The fever is up, causing him to thrash around slightly. Low, painful moans fill the empty air, sympathetic shivers running through me at each one. I've been forced several times to get up and hold his arms down, so he can't move too much and reopen the damage Sally and Quatre repaired. Suddenly, his eyes snap open, the first time since he was brought in.  
  
"I can't see! I'm suffocating! It's too dark!" I know he isn't truly awake, but I rush to his side, placing a cool hand on his forehead. "Oh God, we're going to die! Wu Fei, the air is running out," he chokes out, his violet eyes glazed and lost in recent memory. A mission where he and Wu Fei were locked in an Oz cell to suffocate slowly.  
  
"Duo, calm down. You're in the safehouse in Texas," I try to explain quietly, but I can see he doesn't hear me.  
  
"Deathscythe!" He lunges up quickly, his left hand frantically reaching for where his gun should be. I put my hand in his instead, the pain of his grip distant. "Black and white, black and white!" Giggling hysterically, he falls back to bed willingly as I push him down. A sense of relief goes through me as I see he hasn't popped his stitches this time. "I'm going crazy - Shinigami is coming for me - " Chills roll down my back as he starts coughing.  
  
"It's all right, Duo. I won't let Shinigami have you," I whisper against his ear, and strangely he seems to relax. Falling into a fitful sleep, he still won't release my hand, and I decide I don't mind. I fall into a light doze myself, not having had much sleep the last few days, between the mission and Duo.  
  
A week passes like that, Duo waking from the fever to shout strange things to anyone in the room. I don't think he even knows we're there. His fever comes and goes, spikes and drops, but it hasn't broken yet. Trowa manages to get me to my bed after I fall asleep leaning against the wall of Duo's room, and though I don't want to leave the sick pilot for too long, I sleep over twelve hours. We watch in shifts, sleeping and training and keeping up to date on events in space between witnessing the braided pilot struggle to live.  
  
The IV's are constantly going, he sweats out all the fluids we pump into him. Quatre adds protein drips to keep him from starving. A few sips of water are all he'll take. I've never been this worried about a person in my life, never cared about the outcome of a battle so much. After another week, the pneumonia is more or less gone, though he still has a dry, wracking cough that Quatre and Sally don't like. More medicine added to his tubes.  
  
"It's a promising sign that he's lasted this long, and his wounds are healing," Sally assures us, trying to sound positive. We all want him to survive, but his thinning, pale form doesn't do a damn thing to comfort us.  
  
We need to leave this base soon; the others have done a few more missions from this location and we could be targeted. I don't know how we'll move him, and one of us will have to pilot two Gundams, Deathscythe and their own. I'm watching him one day, paying more attention to the ceiling than him, when his voice cuts through the room.  
  
"Heero? Is that you?" he croaks, moving his left hand feebly in my direction. I jerk up, looking to him. His eyes are open, but for once they aren't glazed by fever, only pain. I feel his forehead before answering, and it's cool to the touch.  
  
"Hai," I whisper finally in Japanese, not catching the slip. He gives a weak smile, glancing lethargically around the dark room.  
  
"I thought I was going to wake up dead. This isn't a dream, is it?" he asks, almost frantic. "It's too dark to tell. I dream in black and white." I blink at his confession, confused for a moment. Black and white dreams?  
  
"No, this isn't a dream. You were shot, and Quatre and Sally did surgery on you in the living room. You had pneumonia and a high fever for a while, but I think it's gone now," I explain, too relieved to hear his voice to see his eyes open wider at my sudden verboseness.  
  
"I - I think I remember," he admits, trying to lift an arm, but too weak from three and a half weeks in bed with a fever. "I knew I was going to die, I wanted to die in Deathscythe." The explanation is obvious to me, I would choose to go in Wing, if given a choice. I nod to show I understand, then realize he probably can't see it.  
  
"I would choose the same." I scoot the chair closer to the bed. "You've been down for almost a month." He seems even more shocked.  
  
"Well, that explains why I feel like a week-old kitten instead of a Gundam pilot," he jokes, trying to laugh and coughing instead. I reach over to the nightstand and hold up a glass of water. At his silent nod, I support him with my right arm and lift him to sip at the water. Lowering him back down carefully, he says a soft, "Thanks."  
  
"Hn."  
  
"Good ol' Heero. Knew I could count on you for minimal conversation." This time he only smiles. I want to see his grins instead. "Where are the others?"  
  
"Asleep. It's three in the morning."  
  
"Oh. What the hell are you doing up?" His eyes are piercing.  
  
"I watch through the night," I tersely supply, not meeting his gaze. His brief bout of recovered energy seems to exhaust him as he sinks lower into the bed, eyes closing. After no words for a while, I figure he's gone back to sleep.  
  
"Heero- " The tone of his voice is strange, and I shift to look at his face. His eyes are still closed. Seeing he expects a reply, I offer one.  
  
"What?" It's soft, not my usual sharp demand.  
  
"I thought I was going to die," he chokes out, tears slipping down his face. "And I realized that I didn't want to." He's crying harder now, but silently. I don't know what to do, and all I can think of is taking the hand I've held almost every night I'm there beside him. He squeezes mine weakly in thanks, but the tears still continue.  
  
"I was afraid you were going to die, too," I whisper hoarsely, leaning my forehead against the back of the hand I hold. "And I didn't want you to, Duo." I'm afraid to look up at him, afraid to see rejection, confusion, revulsion. I don't know. Another squeeze of the hand makes me do it anyway. And all I see is a strange hope, watery from his embarrassed tears.  
  
"I love you, Heero," he admits, a faint pink coming to his otherwise pale cheeks. I'm shocked speechless, left staring at him, dumbfounded. He seems to panic, shifting dangerously in the bed. "Sorry, sorry, I shouldn't have said anything!" He starts coughing again, convulsing slightly as it wracks his chest. I grab the half-empty glass and make him slowly drink more. With a weary sigh, he lays back, looking away from me. I know now that I can't wait until after the war. I have to tell him now, before something like this happens again. Even now, he could still get sick again before fully recovering.  
  
"Duo," I begin, but he interrupts me.  
  
"No, don't say anything, forget I mentioned it. Just don't worry about it," he says hoarsely, and I know he's crying again. I take our hands and press his knuckles hesitantly to my lips. He goes perfectly still, turning to look at me again. Our eyes lock.  
  
"I love you, too, Duo," I manage to get out, feeling an odd weight lift from me. I've wanted to admit it since I first met him, it seems. The Perfect Soldier isn't so perfect now.  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Hai."  
  
"Wow."  
  
"Go back to sleep, Duo. We'll talk more when you're better," I order, relief filling me now that I know he will get better. He nods hesitantly and closes his eyes again. His light, easier breathing is all I need to hear until Wu Fei comes to relieve me at dawn.  
  
"Any change?" Shenlong's pilot asks, no hope in his voice. I give him a rare smile and his eyes widen.  
  
"He woke up. His fever is broken." Leaving the shocked man alone with Duo, I stride quickly to knock on Quatre and Trowa's door down the hall. Getting no reply, I walk in, belatedly ignoring their position, clinging together in the middle of the bed. "Quatre!" The two of them shoot up in bed, and I know it's a situation Duo would find funny. Duo - I even think his name differently now.  
  
"Heero! What is it? Is Duo all right?" Quatre asks, confused, flinging back the covers and getting hurriedly out of bed. Part of me is relieved to see they're both wearing boxers underneath the sheets.  
  
"He woke up, he's cool to the touch." The news causes Trowa to whoop uncharacteristically and Quatre to crack a grin large enough to break his face. I blink at Trowa, who looks sheepish but happy. "He loves me." The remark causes the two of them to stare at me in shock, and I can't help myself. I laugh.  
  
*** (That Afternoon)  
  
"We had it pretty rough for a while, but I think you should make a full recovery, Duo. Just don't try walking on your right leg yet," Sally cautions, her face and voice bright. "I knew you'd make it!" She ruffles my hair and leaves the two of us alone. Heero looks at me, his face the most open I've ever seen it. I grin at him, still tired and feeling weak, but I know inside, I'm on the mend.  
  
"How could she ever doubt? Duo Maxwell can do anything!" I crow with a little less exuberance than usual. I'll get it all back eventually. Wing's pilot only smiles, the expression unfamiliar on his face, but transforming it from the stoic, distant look he once held to something beautiful.  
  
"Of course," he assures me, sitting on the edge of the bed. Neither of us know for sure how to proceed, but I think we'll do all right. He hesitantly touches my face, his expression one of wonder. "I thought I'd lost you, and I had never told you." His are suspiciously shiny, and he blinks once, clearing them.  
  
"Hey, don't feel bad! I never told you, either, and think how I felt! I was the one dying, damn it!" I joke, a feeling of elation filling me. I have something to tell him, and I don't know if he'll understand how important it is.  
  
"We know now, right?" he questions, looking more human then I hoped possible. I reach up and touch his hand, holding it gently.  
  
"Right." I pause, before finally spilling it. "I dreamt in color last night. After we talked," I burst out, praying he'll understand. He studies me for a moment, then grins. It's the first time I've seen him do that. Leaning down, his breath is hot against my mouth as he speaks.  
  
"So did I." And he kisses me for the first time. 


End file.
